Pain, Love, & War
by HeathyrFeathyr
Summary: Gisborne's maid Annie has just fallen pregnant with his child, and he cannot bear her weight any longer. He does not love her. He does not even like her. He must face the inevitable infant, and also finds an inevitable love. How can he have so much passion for one woman when another is carrying his illegitimate child? He will lie, he will cheat, and he will have what he desires.
1. Temptation

Guy could feel the firm thump as his heart beat against his ribs. The thickness of his hot blood seemed to crawl up the back of his neck in excitement as his hands searched for satisfaction along the naked curves of the castle servant, her soft chestnut hair splayed across the mattress as he acted out his temptations. He heard her whisper his name into his ear and squeezed his hands tighter on her hips.

Gisborne shot up from the bed in a cold sweat, his mind ringing for a few moments before realizing it was the entrapment of a dream. Momentarily he shut his eyes and clenched the sheets, knuckles white, brain aching. This was far more than a dream; it was a memory. A memory that infiltrated each drop of slumber he could find. Much like a spy, this awful fragment crept in through his window and slithered up to him each night. It thieved away his sleep and haunted any nap he tried to grab in the day. It had been three weeks since Annie told him she was pregnant with his child, and still he could find no peace. After sliding out of bed and dressing himself, Guy felt the weight of his choices come back.

It was as if he had been stolen away by the wind and hurled into the English Channel, the waves roaring up foam all around him, the tide slamming him into craggy rocks with each pulse of the water. He hated Annie. He hated the way she clung to him like cologne, the way she rambled about who knows what, the way she never shut up. Worst of all, he despised the way Annie was now molding his life. He had no forward direction, no plans for himself other than wild dreams, but who was she to take that away? If he had to marry her, or even worse, be anchored down by some bratty infant, what would happen to the speck of hope that he could become Sherriff? She had no right; this was never meant to be more than an outlet for his personal cravings.

The bitterness sunk into him like a cold morning presses into the soil and marked his attitude through the day of tax collections. Citizens were not surprised. If there was not one trigger to set off Gisborne another would not be too far away. He never divulged, of course, the seedlings that sprouted into wrath and hatred, but the people of Nottingham always felt the dark shade that it cast. Farmers had crowns ripped from their hands, women had homes overturned for valuables, children had their food whisked away. On this afternoon alone, Nottingham's man in leather harvested at least three hundred crowns and two dozen tax evaders. Chainmail guards swooped flawlessly around the villages and stole away each thing they could find. By sunset all that remained in peace was Kirklee's Abbey down by the river.

"Take the prisoners back to the castle," he ordered the wagon as their horses trotted over rocky paths, "Sturgess, Pearson, Stockham, come with me to the church. And bring that wood chest, will ya?" The silver skinned minions complied without a word. A large chunk of their parade broke off down a right fork in the road to reach the capital city, cash and condemned men making noise along the way. The four remaining officers tore down a road dotted with brush that curved around the fringe of Sherwood Forest as the horses panted to keep the pace. Within fifteen minutes the soldiers were storming the holy grounds. They all remembered the collections from just two weeks ago; the priest was holding back funds for some ridiculous orphanage and, without a warning, was stabbed through the neck by Gisborne's blade. He would not have any more patience this time than last.

Guy pushed open the sturdy wooden door to Kirklee's Abbey and was confronted with the thick cloud of incense. A light haze of it swirled in front of icons that boasted bright color and holy significance. The white marble floor, he noted, had been cleansed of the bloodshed from before. Gisborne snapped his head back up at the entrance of a deacon whose distraught face and rattled posture opposed the assuredness of the man in black.

"Sir Guy," he greeted with a cellophane smile, "I see you are here for the taxes."

"I am not a mood to be kept waiting."

"Ah. Of course, I shall find the record keeper, then."

"Do not waste my time again." Gisborne sourly bit when the Deacon departed the foyer. With impatience he folded his arms and nodded for his guards to follow the clergyman. He turned to glance around the lobby of the church in an interest to pass the time, noticing that only half of the candles were lit. The warm incense filled his lungs and soothed his skin even though Guy found himself far from his depth. He could not pinpoint the source of his disgust with the church, probably because there were many issues, and probably because he did not care to think about them and their fantasy. In his mind, this was the blind leading the blind and dumb. How could there be a God? After all, no one could be greater than Guy of Gisborne. This train of thought was broken when he was shoved from behind. Guy instinctually gripped the hilt of his dagger and spun around.

Behind him stood a woman wearing more shock and surprise than even he; in her hands were a jumbled pyramid of cranberry red candles that matched the others in the hall. Her green eyes were enlarged with panic as she took a deep breath and clutched the candles. Gisborne's muscles relaxed and soaked up the adrenaline that prepared him to fight. She apologetically looked to him, sweeps of strawberry blonde hair caught on her eyelashes and shielding half of her face.

"I am so sorry, sir. I'm sorry."

"S'alright." He replied with a low baritone voice, watching as the girl tried to shake the hair from her vision.

"You're a bit early for the service, but feel free to have a seat in the chapel."

"I'm not here for some service," he laughed with a darkness of disdain and disbelief at the notion, "It's business."

"Oh. Well then." She went off without a word for a few steps before stopping to rearrange the mountain of wax in her arms. Impatiently Gisborne looked to the door where the Deacon had vanished from and went over to her, taking a batch of candles from her hold.

"Bit much to carry?"

"Got to earn the pay, right?" She went to the other end of the hall and began lighting the red vigil candles from some of the others to decorate near a large painting of the Son of God. The wood seemed to be in the early stages of cracking at the base. "If you're here for business can I help you with anything?" She spun to see him with a warm look in her eyes and a kind smile. Gisborne did not know what to say. Why for any reason would someone grin at him? Sure, the church had to be polite, it was kind of their thing, but why so calm? Guy was a killer. He was here to scrape their baskets bare of money in the hall where only a fortnight ago he had slain a priest in cold blood. Yet for the first time he was being shown kindness and praise. He deserved it as a nobleman but rarely saw it as a henchman. His skin felt too small over the muscles of his body and his brain screeched to find reasoning.

"I came for your taxes and record log. Your Deacon is taking far longer than he ought to." Gisborne worked to swallow down an ember of rage in his words.

"Deacon John? Oh, you're going to be waiting forever, my friend. He walks like the little old man that he is," she giggled and set down the unlit candles, "I can show you where the tax book is if you like." The girl waved for him to follow and set down the same hall as his men had a moment ago. Uncomfortably he scratched his beard and complied. His longer legs caught up to her pace in no time. Walking in unison she stood to just above his shoulders, her posture perfect, her age no bigger than 23, he thought. She did not seem familiar; in his last visit here it seemed like every member of the parish came to scream and wail at the event. He would have seen her face.

"I don't remember seeing you here." He shortly stated.

"I've just come to Nottingham, actually. From Leeds."

"Ah."

"My father transferred to this parish a few weeks ago after they lost their priest," she casually added as Guy sucked in a sharp breath of guilt, "So I'm still getting to know everybody. You are?"

"Sir Guy of Gisborne." He answered with an air of vanity before extending a hand. She puckered her lips for a second at the title.

"I see; not a man I should have hit with candles. I'm Lucille Barker," The short blonde accepted the handshake, "I saw some guards, you're in the military here?"

"Command Sergeant Major of Nottingham." Gisborne's organs were swept aside by the boiling pride inside of himself; the list of his accomplishments and means were long and sure to impress someone like her. Lucille seemed innocent, young, and like the kind of girl that would respect how hard he worked. She raised her eyebrows at this knowledge. Here standing before her was the leader of the entire army for miles around – and she had made him carry candles. From around the corner came his troops guiding the elderly Deacon, a leather bound book in hand that measured about one foot on each side. Robotically Lieutenant Sturgess surrendered the book to Guy and led the other men out with a box of coins in tow.

"I suppose that's that, then." Lucille grinned at him again, a slight blush rushing to her as she watched the handsome soldier smile back.

"For now."

"Well, if you ever want to come by for another service or confession, you know where to find us."

"Trust me; you don't have enough time for my confession." Guy muttered with a chuckle before taking a step back towards the exit.

"Trust me; He does." She pointed upwards with a steely certainty as he departed. At the end of the hall, Guy turned to her and paused, his eyes flashing back and forth with a shyness he was unfamiliar with. His lips stumbled with the idea that his brain urged to express.

"Let me know the next time you need help with those candles."

"Will do, Command Sergeant Major, Sir." Lucille jokingly saluted back with a laugh. Gisborne left the Abbey and exited into the orange haze of sundown, his clear eyes focused on the stained glass lined along the church.

It felt good, so damn good, to make an impression on someone. Each soul in this county knew his actions, not him, and judged him accordingly. Even children were appalled by Guy, but a girl actually smiled at him today; genuinely smiled. How lovely she was with her sweet eyes and soft looking skin. Gisborne could only imagine how sweet the satisfaction of kissing her would be. Lucille would probably taste amazing, and she would be so fun to hold on to. He pondered the excitement of running a hand up her dress and feeling her weight in his bed. But this thought was soon interrupted by the darkness that was Annie and her pregnancy. These ideas are exactly what put him on this crumbling ground of uncertainty in the first place. He refused to marry Annie and her whining baby; he simply could not put up with her for one more minute, much less one more lifetime. But he couldn't create this trap again. Guy had to yank at the reins and halt his desires now so as not to make matters worse. That was exactly why he decided to never see Lucille Barker again.


	2. Secrets

"It's a really hard choice, you see? I mean, the red is wonderful but don't you think it will make the baby look, you know, a lot bigger? The blue dress may hide it better. What do you think, Guy?" Annie swirled around from the mirror with a gleam of joy in her smile. Her stomach had recently become bubbled up slightly and the chatter about her pregnancy to him was nonstop. Gisborne could feel the itch to simply kill her and be done with it all. With a sigh he shrugged and continued to sharpen his dagger, gliding the ragged rock along the pressed blade.

"If you stay in my chambers much longer, Annie, people are going to think there's something going on."

"Well, there is," She teasingly curled her chestnut braid around her finger and went over to him. She stepped behind the man in black and leaned over, her chest against his back, her warm breath on his neck. Annie grinned and ran her hands down from Guy's shoulders to his ribs, "But we can just say I'm cleaning up."

"Or you could actually clean." He flatly replied when she moved in to kiss him. Annie stroked through his hair with her fingers but eventually abandoned her plea for attention.

"Christmas always seems to make you so grumpy."

"It's the first day of December." Gisborne grouchily scraped the weapon against the rock, his patience beginning to run thinner than the razor edge of his knife.

"Well, it's just around the cor –"

"You do not know me, Annie." He growled, slamming the dagger onto his oak desk.

"I do, though, Guy. I do. I know you're sweet under all the show," she took her tender hands and held both of his, "I've seen the look in your eyes when we're… spending time together." Annie squeezed his hands reassuringly and kissed him. Her lips were soft and familiar, but they did not offer any spark. As they indulged in one of the most special forms of connection Gisborne felt nothing at all for this servant girl. For months he has taken much more than her kisses, but he hasn't felt an ache for her. He never once in the day wondered what she was doing. He certainly never dreamed of her; not until the nightmares of her conception arrived. Annie didn't seem to match his sensation of apathy. For her, this was not the same as holding a stranger on the street, she cared for him. Perhaps her love had grown over time and through their hungry acts of desperation, but now they were together. She had a man, a man with security, a man who could be kind. Their baby would be well taken care of to say the least. So what if they had done this in the wrong order? Soon there would be a wedding and a child, what more could she ask for?

"I don't want to keep you from other things and get you in trouble." Guy urged her with a glance to the door.

"Alright, I'll see you after supper."

"Oh and, um, Annie… I would say the red dress." He mumbled in the effort to cut her some slack. If this was his situation, why make it more miserable than it was fated to be?

"Lovely." She grinned before opening the thick wooden door. A suck of cool air brushed into the room and there, to their surprise, stood Vaisey with the back of his fur lined coat to the wall. The Sheriff was picking at his finger nails when he looked up.

"Well, little lady, scoot along."

"My Lord, what do you want?" Guy asked uneasily.

"Can I not pop round to visit my good friend Gisborne, hmm?" Vaisey invited himself into the quarters and immediately poked through the scrolls and trinkets across Guy's desk.

"It's unexpected."

"I'm worried about our dear friend little Annabelle or whatever her plain face is. She's been spending a lot of time with you lately."

"She's been a good help –"

"Oh do not treat me like such a thick fool, Gisborne, she's been getting fatter every day since coming in here," Vaisey nearly spat as he created a twisted and wicked excitement in his eyes, "I must say, well done. Not everyone can create a little bubba with such little effort, eh?'

"My Lord –"

"Now, now, your filthy little secret is safe with me."

"Believe me, I do not intend to stay with her –"

"Good, maybe there is some sense in you after all. You know, of course, that you are a key cog in this wonderful and meticulous plan we have with Prince John, don't you? And if you would rather preoccupy yourself with lepers I would be more than happy to find a cog that will do a better job than you, which actually would not be that difficult at all!"

"My Lord Sheriff, I promise you, she is not a distraction."

"Good. You should have heeded my warning about filthy lepers, Gisborne, their disease is going to start crawling all over you." The foul shine from the ruby in Vaisey's tooth glinted in the sun and, just as quickly as he appeared, he vanished like smoke. Guy was left alone in his room feeling washed over in a thick ooze of anger and embarrassment. He was so sick of all the damn leper jokes; the Sheriff was fully aware of the turmoil that happened to Guy's father and continued to jab and poke and twist in order to mangle up his victim. To make it even worse, his secret was spread out into the air. He wished so desperately to grab the words back from the atmosphere and shove them down deep into the prison cells, bury them in a dark and inescapable vault where they didn't have to exist.

How much torture could he take from Vaisey before snapping? He needed that snake if there was any chance of becoming Sheriff himself. Besides, perhaps bad attention was better than no attention at all. Guy felt like and abandoned plant, starving for the warm and glittering sun, but stranded in a pit of hellish darkness. Vaisey was no more than a flicker of candle light at best, but wasn't that better than nothing? He would take the scourging, the lashing, the agony, just to be looked at. By now, at least, his hide was growing thick with scars and each beating fazed him less and less.

Gisborne's thoughts fell to Annie. She could give him attention, he supposed. God knows she constantly tried. That girl was like a lap dog, constantly yapping, endlessly jumping up in front of you for scraps of affection. That was somehow different; he didn't need her to advance. Her awful presence would not be followed by succession to a throne. It could only lead to insanity and screaming babies, which were frankly one in the same.

If he was forced to bear the weight of Atlas for the reward of succulent fruit then where was the fruit? It had been years and his hole was only getting deeper. One day, Gisborne lied to himself, things would get easier. One day, he would control his life. One day, he would have something he truly wanted.


	3. New Life

This Christmas season the vile and reptilian Sheriff had truly outdone himself. The towering castle and banquet hall screamed about his wealth as apples and fir garlands dripped from each available spot. The fruits and meats that were passed around by servants were as fresh as possible and the gambling tables were as lively as one could imagine. Vaisey prided himself on holiday parties and attempted to up the ante on lavishness each time. It seemed that 1142 was his best year by far. The scent of cedar and pinecones bombarded guests and completely masked the smell of melting beeswax candles along the multiple chandeliers and candelabras. Women clutched to their rich husbands and cackled in drunken laughter as the sun began collapsing down the horizon to fall victim to the evening.

Gisborne's muscles ached and groaned with depression and hissed at him to avoid the celebration, but for the sake of face he had to make an appearance, even in the brilliance would be in the brevity. Suited in a simple jacket and raspberry ascot he dragged himself away from the company of his feather mattress to the nuisance of other affluent nobles. Guy was comforted by the thought of the endless ale available to him as the rich flaunted their cash and poor excuse for humor. Thankfully once he reached the banquet hall it was a matter of seconds before he could cling to the rewarding embrace of alcohol. The servant he received it from, though, made him quick to roll his icy eyes.

"Anything else I can get for you, my lord?" Annie chirped, shifting the weight of her tray filled with mugs. The pregnant woman fluttered her eyelids a bit before Gisborne painted on a false grin.

"I'm perfect, thank you." As Annie opened her mouth to speak again, she was cut off by the rising music of the lute, lyre, and bells from across the hall. Guy was relieved to find an excuse to peel away from her side and took his chance to escape. He was not particularly enticed by the music, but a stop at the craps table was infinitely more appealing than coded messages with his former mistress. While eyeing the game table he heard the vocalist for the song begin belting out tunes for the drunken older men. This voice, though, was much sweeter than the regular hopefuls who snag a spot on stage for the extra pennies. It sounded airy and feminine while floating on the high notes. Gisborne found himself surprised; this song was actually making him feel something. It wasn't a show tune he hadn't heard a million times before and yet somehow the velvety assurance of this voice was like a magnet. He had to see the siren who sang these melodies. His trademark scowl parted the sea of guests as he walked to the band. Once he arrived, Guy found himself stupefied and yet not surprised.

Lucille Barker stood with a contagious glow, the notes from her chest sounding so simple yet so enticing. The instrumentals, the party, the stench of wine and pine, all of it left Gisborne. Here, in this moment, all he saw was precious Lucille enjoying herself so much one would think the party was honoring her. At the end of her seasonal tune she gave a small wave to the happy crowd and twirled the forest green skirt she wore with a touch of cheekiness. Guy felt his cheeks ache and realized he was smiling; that ended immediately upon recognition. When Lucille slipped away from the spotlight, he was sure to follow her. Gisborne stretched out to grab her wrist but retracted immediately. She may be here with a date, one of class no doubt at this sort of function. Besides, why would she want to speak with him? And what if she realized the impregnated Annie was his doing? A sharp sting of anxiety dug into him. Guy scoffed at himself and polished off his wooden cup of booze. He had shared one conversation with this girl and now she was on some glamorous pedestal? Preposterous, Gisborne thought, nothing was above him. Filled with liquid courage he chased her down.

The strawberry blonde had stopped at a roulette table and was trying to peek over the crowd to decipher the rules for the game; at five foot three inches she did not have much of a chance. Guy came up to stand next to her, their shoulders brushing, and cleared his throat before looking down to see her with a confident smirk. Lucille's emerald eyes smiled as her round cheeks blushed. She glanced away then went back to meet his gaze.

"What a lovely surprise to see you here." The man in leather broke the ice, endorphins pumping through his brain and pressing at the seams of his veins.

"It's a lovely surprise that you remember me after the better part of two months."

"Yet you remember me."

"I'm good at remembering faces."

"I'm good remembering gorgeous girls." Guy smiled with a coolness that would stop any woman's heart in her throat.

"Great party you're having."

"Yes… Bit loud, though. Would you like to step outside to the garden for some privacy?" He watched as she pretended to consider the options, then politely agree. Guy suavely led her aside and through the stone archways to the well-manicured gardens that flourished with fluffed English roses and swooping branches on fruit trees. The night was crawling to blanket Nottingham but it had not yet dominated the county. The sky was painted a rich lilac with the frosted orange haze of the sun dipping down, and in the top corner hung the small puncture of a crescent moon that shone down on the crisp winter air.

"Oh, I just love violas. They're always so dainty and have the richest purples… do you have a favorite plant out here?"

"No," Guy awkwardly replied, "I don't."

"Ah… I have been wondering, Sir Guy, if you are a military man what business do you have with my church's taxes?" An air of entertainment was in her stare, but he still became defensive over the question. He was still unfamiliar with Lucille Barker; was she infiltrating him to feed information to outlaws? Or to the Sheriff of Leeds? He could detect the ludicrous nature of these worries, and yet they remained.

"I also keep track of the taxes around Nottingham… there's not too much I can't do, really."

"Oh, so you're a tax collectioner, too?"

"… Collector, yes."

"Right, yeah." Lucille tightly pulled her lips into a flat line and turned away to focus on the swaying arms of the trees dancing in rhythm with the breeze. She felt deeply ashamed of her mispronunciation; all of her life she had been mocked for her simplicity and borderline stupidity. If it weren't for her whiff of importance as a preacher's daughter she wouldn't be allowed near the perimeter of a gala like this; foolish mistakes and inferior intelligence would smoke her out in an instant.

"I'm surprised you haven't come with your husband, he must be worried about you coming out to this party alone." Guy fished for information and took another step towards her. She had folded her hands up to keep them warm in the wintery air as darkness fell.

"I'm not married," Lucille chuckled, "Tell me, Sir Guy, what things should my husband be so worried about?"

"Well, you are bound to run into men like me who will see you from across the room and decide to bring you to a garden. They will want to keep that precious smile of yours all to themselves. They'll want to know everything about you, they may even try to hold your hand." Gisborne tenderly cupped both of her slim hands into his and held them with a smirk, the cozy warmth of his skin touching hers, the heat blocking out the cold night.

"Why would you want to do that?"

"Lucille, I find myself… I've thought of you. Once. Well, I find you charming."

"Lucky me; but what about your dear wife?"

"Wife?" His Adam's apple clenched under the scruff of stubble. How could she know about Annie? Had Vaisey dug this deep to sabotage him, even though he had abandoned the idea of this church mouse long ago and never mentioned her? Or perhaps that wretched mistress opened her mouth as easily as her legs.

"You're successful, older… not at all as ridiculous looking as most noblemen in northern England. Surely I am fighting some type of competition."

"I didn't realize you could sing." Guy awkwardly switched the conversation as the swelling pressure of the illegitimate baby pressed on his lungs. Nervousness clamped to his bones and he let her hands go.

"I'm the chanter at the Abbey," she grinned as she moved a bit closer, "you should come by some time to see."

"I'd be happy to have a reason to see you… m'lady." Gisborne could feel the alcohol in his blood fading away, sobriety resurfacing, insecurities rising like a destructive tide. He could master any animal and break any man, but women were nothing short of impossible. In the moonlight Lucille's oval face was even milkier, even considering that the biting cold was painting her cheeks and nose red.

"If you don't mind, I'm rather frozen out here. Do you think we could…"

"Uh, yes. Of course."

"Great." Lucille gingerly rested her hand on top of his, the meekness in her touch invigorating. Guy's mind scrambled at the affection and he clutched her palm with hastiness; his hungry desperation was clear, but she seemed oblivious to it.

Inside, Annie blew a curl of hair away from her face and grudgingly smiled through her teeth. This was about the twentieth tray of wine she was forced to carry tonight. But it was okay, she knew it deep in her soul, deep in the root of her being. Soon her life would be so different. Soon, she would be Lady Gisborne. With a sigh she shut her eyes, only for a moment, and felt the new life inside of her. This tie to Guy was so sublime and yet so strong. Their tether transcended their classes and roles. They created life, and now he would help her create a new life of her own. Annie couldn't have imagined for a moment that just outside on the patio, Guy had found the newest girl on his list to woo. Soon, though, she would know. And she would not waste any time before fighting to the death for the father of her baby.


	4. A Child's Game

"What on earth is going on with you?"

"What do you mean?" Lucille hurriedly defended as she placed two goblets on the supper table, one before her seat and the other in front of her father.

"You're usually the kind to be off with the fairies, but I don't think you've stopped smiling all day. What is this about?"

"Nothing."

"Oh come now, you're a terrible liar." He poked while scratching at his whiting stubble. Her lips were in a tug of war between grinning in giddiness and secrecy when the blonde poured the wine and took her seat. Lucille sat opposite her father at the table and glanced off the subject by grabbing a portion of bread from the basket between them. After twenty years, however, George was accustomed to wiggling information out of his daughter. With a small sniff he tugged at the collar of his tunic and stared Lucille down.

"If you must know, I am thinking of gifts to buy. Christmas day is this weekend."

"For who?"

"Well not you if you keep asking me questions."

"We have only been here for two months, who is getting you this excited? Please don't tell me it's some boy, Lucille, not again."

"What do you mean again?" She rested the spoon on her plate with a huff. The pout across her face gleamed in the orange light that radiated from the fireplace; the only thing that would make her seem more childish was if she folded her arms.

"The last time you told me you were in love," George reclined in his seat with a resistant groan from the oak chair, "it was because the merchant gave you one extra cabbage when you paid for two. What a token of love that was."

"Oh my – Dad, I was fifteen when that happened! Let it go!"

"Twenty-one is not much older, my dear. You're not old enough to know –"

"Anna is already married. And Beth. And Faye has a daughter with her husband; they're all my age."

"Faye is only married because she had that baby, don't think I forgot. Now Lucy –"

"Don't call me that," Lucille tapped her fingers on the pewter goblet with frustration, "I'm tired of being treated like a child."

"Alright, alright… I'm sorry."

"Besides, I never said I was in love."

"Well, are you?"

"Maybe." Lucille cocked her head to the side with a crooked smile and ate a piece of bread to smother down the thrill and emotion that attempted to leap out from her heart. A freezing wind pressed against the thin windows of their home in the silence, its chill hissing at the door jamb. She bit her lip before continuing. "He works for the army and has a nice bit of land out in Locksley. He's sweet, and he's funny, and so charming… we went to one of the holiday fairs yesterday afternoon and it was just so perfect."

"If he's so perfect, why isn't he married already?" The priest challenged immediately.

"You haven't even met him, don't be so hard, Dad. I feel like this might actually be something."

"I just want you to be careful, my dear. You're young, pretty, and forgive me for saying, very naïve. No matter what, you will always be my girl first." He gently laid a palm on the table and was instantly rewarded with a squeeze from Lucille. She quietly poured them both another glass of crimson wine with relief on her mind; the strain of bottling up her feelings for Guy was finally dissolving away. Even more importantly she had ended the conversation with her father on a positive note. Father George was by far the most important person in her life. Spiritually, he was her leader. Emotionally, he was her rock. Socially, he was her closest confidant. The pair had been inseparable since her mother died and left the five year old in her father's sole care. Yet it was so draining to be the only daughter of a priest. Eyes followed her every motion and whispers chased her every action; people always searched for dirt to smear on the pristine family of God, which was difficult enough to grow up in on its own. It didn't help any that George reacted by raising Lucille to be strictly structured, humble, and sheltered. She had been molded into a reserved and shy girl that harbored the frustrations and vanities of an adolescent for the sake of reputation. Pretty girls like her, after all, were to be seen and not heard. For now, at least, she was glad to know he was open to the idea of her budding relationship with Gisborne.

Across the county in the warm embrace of clinically cold castle walls, Guy was also preoccupied with the fancies of the holidays. As the Lord of Locksley he was entitled to quite a few gifts from around the village on Boxing Day. The peasants never gave up anything good enough for a man of his caliber, but the massage of his ego was a highlight of the winter season. This year, however, he could not help but to feel a tickling need to give as well as receive. Gisborne was a very generous man to people who had things he desired and Lucille was no exception. Her quietness was such an exhilarating change from the attitude of Maid Marian and the obnoxiousness of Annie. Whenever Guy got Lucille alone she could chat for hours, giggle excitedly, and smile without guard. It was as if her charm was a secret between them that only he got to indulge in and it drove him insane. Both his hormones and his mind craved the attention that she gave up without resistance. He knew without a trace of reservation that he had to have her for himself. That was precisely why he broke his own rule of thumb and intended on doting her with gifts for Christmas; once she saw how sustained his wealth was, she would have no choice but to be wooed. At least so he thought. With a smirk he ran his thumb over the burgundy silk bag that contained her gift and placed it on his desk alongside scattered scrolls and frayed writing feathers.

A sudden knock at the door drew Gisborne from recognizing his own exceptionalism. When he answered it, he was met with the lush and tender green leaves of mistletoe stuffed in his face. Guy flinched back and grabbed it away from Annie, who was giggling uncontrollably. He tossed it onto the mantle of his flickering fireplace and invited her to enter so that no others would see her presence. Once alone she was quick to snake her arms around the toweringly tall man in black and take a deep breath. He could feel the nervous sweat beading on the back of his neck as she pressed her four month pregnant belly to his; every nerve in him seemed to die and yet simultaneously come alive at her touch, but not in a good way. He needed to be rid of her.

"I thought I might bring you some Christmas cheer." Annie chirped once she finally unhooked herself from him. Her auburn hair was curled up into a bun and held with cheap golden looking pins.

"That's very thoughtful." He halfheartedly responded when she grabbed up the greenery again.

"You know women are getting kissed all over England under mistletoe; it's sweet."

"It's a child's game, Annie. Speaking of which, you should go home and get some rest for you and that baby."

"Oh, come on, Guy. It'll be fun." She smiled before pulling up close to him again. Gisborne shifted uncomfortably in his jacket; the artificial intimacy between them made his skin itch with an emotional disease. Every time she kissed him the depth of his self-loathing broke through the cap and sunk even lower. A certain promise is made to a woman, after all, in the passionate moments of a kiss, and he was fully aware that in their modern times it was nothing shy of a hint at marriage. What sort of promise did he unintentionally make in his bed to her then, he pondered with grotesque curiosity. There was no reason for her to believe, based on action, that he wouldn't whisk her off to be his wife. But Gisborne already knew the future, and it never included Annie. The Lady Gisborne would be much different, much softer, much more like Lucille Barker…

He pulled back stonily and held the shoulders of her brown cloak. Out of pity, and potentially even a speck of remorse, he placed a tender kiss on her forehead. Annie beamed at the scrap of affection she had developed an addiction to.

"Go home for the night."

"Alright, I will." She clasped up the neck of her hide lined cloak and took in one last look at the father of her growing infant. Her fantastical dream became interrupted when the shrill screams of the Sherriff came ringing from down the hall.

"Gisborne!" He cried with a tone of uselessness. Guy rolled his eyes and strode to the door out of habit more than thought, only turning to say good night to his mistress on a second thought.

"Go. And stay warm." He added before running off to solve the castle's mounting problems for his superior. Annie waved meekly as her love vanished like dispersing smoke once again; he was like a fluid and able to slip in or away at a moment's notice. She went to his desk and set down the bunch of fresh mistletoe sprigs as a small token for him, but not before noticing an intriguing bag. The silk of it was fine and no doubt expensive but her mind was far more enticed by the contents. Nimbly she undid the sealing tie and stretched open the pouch to pull out a fine comb that glinted in the light of the cozy fire. The richly hued amethysts and emeralds that were scattered across the handle were marvelous and boastful yet feminine, and it took only one second of their glint to take Annie's breath away from her. Guy had purchased such an exquisite gift for her it could not have a rival anywhere in the world. She knew that he was a hard man, a weathered man who had no skill at self-expression or sensitivity. That made his heartfelt gift to the mother of his child all the more magnificent.

Annie tucked the comb away and tied the bag back up with a broad grin on her face. By the end of the week it would be hers, and naturally, so would Guy's heart. It would be difficult to contain this excitement until the end of the holiday season, but surely she could find a way. With all of the stress of pregnancy it felt so wonderful to have the reassurance of Gisborne by her side. Soon Annie would have a jeweled comb in one hand and a baby in the other, and she couldn't imagine anything better.


	5. Christmas Eve

That Thursday England was brushed in a veil of pristinely white snow that hung weightlessly off of bare tree branches and rooftops. By the middle of the afternoon Nottinghamshire looked like a well-crafted painting of a Christmas wonderland; fir boughs with apples and holly covered the villages and poked color through the frosty crust of snow as cardinals and squirrels left dainty footprints beneath the trees. This Christmas Eve, they all knew, was going to be perfect.

Puffs of snow were crushed under the menacing hooves of Gisborne's stallion as he pressed through the village of Nettlestone. He was wrestling with an odd sensation that was as alien as a foreign language; when he was shipped off to Acre to annihilate King Richard I there was not an ounce of hesitation. When he held a glowing hot iron to the melting flesh of screaming interrogation victims he did not become uneasy. But now on this glittering Christmas Eve his stomach turned with terror as he tied the reins of his horse to a post near the Barker residence. Resting inside the breast pocket of his leather hide the gift for Lucille was set against his restless heart. A creeping fear of rejection slithered along his skin and swallowed up his inflated confidence. What if she began to spit at him the way the others do? What if she could not see past his line of work and resented his touch? What if she flat out laughed at him? The idea of her potential disgust at his gift made Guy sick. Regardless, he knocked on the door and tugged his gloves up tighter. The door creaked open with a resistance to the cold invading its thick and worn wood to show a man whose tired expression seemed equally worn. His hair was a deep sandy blond, his stature a few inches below Gisborne, his eyes a cool and faded blue.

"Sir Guy of Gisborne," the man shakily greeted as the warnings and stories of violence flooded his mind, "is there something I can help you with?"

"I'm looking for Lucille Barker," he replied, his arrogant stance belying his resistance to making eye contact.

"With all due respect, Sir, she has not done any harm. I don't know what you think my daughter has done, but she has not broken any law."

"I never said she did… why, are you hiding something?"

"Guy! I wasn't expecting you," Lucille chirped as she poked between her father and the door, "Come inside before you freeze to death." With an exchange of glances between the Barkers he was allowed in and the frost was boxed out with the click of the handle. George had the courtesy to excuse himself to the other side of the room to tidy miscellaneous knick-knacks, but did not for a moment remove his gaze from his clearly smitten daughter. She stood close to Gisborne, her fingers fiddling with the deep ink blue tunic she wore.

"I hope I'm not disturbing you."

"Not at all; I was just doing some weaving. It gets rather boring after a few hours so I'm actually glad you've come by."

"Good. Well, not good that you're bored, but good that maybe it means you would want to come out and… you know, with me, and we could perhaps go for a ride or…" As Gisborne burned up in his own discomfort his baritone voice did not lose control. Lucille simply grinned and nodded; she found his shyness to be sweet and genuine. That was the most impressive thing in her opinion about Guy, he was so honest and sensitive yet as strong as an ox. Nobody could have convinced her that he was a sadistic control freak, not for one moment.

"It's a beautiful day; I'd love to take a ride to the forest with you."

"Now, Lucille," her father butted in as he set down a wooden carving of Joseph from the nativity set, "I hope you're not making plans. I need your help decorating the church for the Christmas Liturgy."

"I'll have it done by service tomorrow, don't worry."

"Ah, perhaps it should be done today. Just to be sure."

"Then surely Beth can do it." Lucille countered with a gritting of her teeth. Her strawberry blonde hair was intricately pinned up in dangling curls that rattled when she shook her head minutely in disbelief; she was deeply offended by George's obvious counter to their acquaintance. Gisborne, too, grew a hard shell of stony annoyance at the obstacle in his path and folded his arms.

"Problem solved, then." Guy stated with a note of minor menace, his frosty eyes dead set on the priest's.

"I shall go put on my boots and get my bag, I suppose. Be right back." Lucille took one last look at the man in black and scurried up the nearby steps, her petite feet making only the noise of a mouse, her absence thickening the tension between rivalling men.

"I will let you know now, Sir Guy, that I am fully aware of your presence in Nottingham and I cannot allow my daughter to pass her time with you." George boldly stated although his voice was casual. Gisborne scoffed and gave a small sniff; who was this to tell him what to do?

"If you do know me at all you would know better than to say such things."

"I am her father, and until she is married everything she does is my choice."

"Barker," he laughed with a disturbed malice, "Whatever you have heard about me surely cannot compare to the things I will do when I do not get my way. I will have anything, and anyone, I want. I will take it whether I have your arbitrary permission or not." Gisborne had inched into the face of Lucille's father, the bite in his words shaded with a darkness that froze George's blood.

"That's Father to you." He muttered in defiance. Guy rolled his neck and fluttered his eyes as all the demons inside his veins screamed for him to unsheathe his dagger; instead he flared his nostrils and grabbed for the clergyman's tunic collar.

"I'm ready!" Lucille called from the peak of the staircase, instantly startling Gisborne into releasing her father from his hellish grasp.

"It is far too cold for you to go out," George plainly told her while avoiding the needles in Gisborne's glare, "you're too weak."

"I'm fine, I haven't been ill in months. And I have my fur cloak, so…" Lucille clipped the neck of her eggplant shaded cape, the inner gray lining a plush bouquet of squirrel fur. It was nothing too expensive but she made it look priceless to Guy.

"We should get going then eh, Father?" He vindictively added on before pulling out the front door and stamping to his stallion. Before George could grab his daughter she had flown into the wind to follow him with no question, no hesitance, and no precaution. George grabbed at the door handle in a panic. Gisborne was a poisonous smog who, within seconds of meeting, was tossing out threats like a deck of cards. If he was violent when he didn't get his way, what would he do to Lucille if she denied him? Would he harm her, abuse her, or even kill her?

Guy did not plan that far ahead, nor did he think it would be necessary to. As they bolted down wintry paths Lucille's warm grip around his torso was invigorating. She held on to him tight from the back of the muscular horse, her hands slightly trembling in the chill, her soft body pressed up to him. He internally scorned himself for wearing such a thick coat that prevented him from feeling a more detailed outline of her on the ride. After a quiet twenty minutes the two of them pulled to a halt where patches of fir trees left a grand clearing just off the path. The empty space was in the shape of a perfect oval, the glittering sun raining down onto the snow, the dusted trees shivering in the breeze. It seemed to be the image from a storybook as well as where Lucille begged to run off to. She was quick to slide off the horse, although weary of the distance from her short legs to the ground. Gisborne was sure to dismount with his cool as his date half skipped into the small field, her cape fluttering behind her. Lucille stood directly in the center and gawked at the highest points of the bristly pine trees and how they danced in the overcast sky. Her heart raced and her blood thickened when she sensed Guy approach and stand very close behind her; he had considered setting his hand against her back but reluctantly decided against it.

"It's so beautiful here, I'm glad I came to Nottingham." She beamed before looking back down to see Guy. A light headedness filled her from craning her neck for so long.

"I'm glad you did, too."

"I bet Christmas here is going to be wonderful. I always make a plum pudding that is just to die for; you should come round tomorrow for our feast! I would love to see you there."

"I wish I could," Guy lowly looked away from her excitement, "but I can't. The people of Locksley will be at the manor for Christmas."

"Oh, yes, of course. It was silly for me to ask. You're a landlord, of course you have plans, I shouldn't have…" Lucille felt flushed with embarrassment at being mistaken. In his reassuring presence it was simple to forget that he was such a high ranked man. Besides, why would he want to spend time at her simple little supper anyways? He would be used to much more extravagant festivities.

"If I could, I would be there happily. But I'm afraid I'll be tied up tomorrow which is why I brought your gift today."

"Gift?" Lucille's eyes shot up, their green matching the surrounding forest, "You really don't have to –"

"I want to." Gisborne suavely smirked as he withdrew the silk bag from his pocket, the pouch warm from his body heat. A childlike wonder struck her expression as she giddily fumbled with the ties; her pleasure sent surges through his nerves. This happiness was from him, crafted by his own hands, molded from his quality. Guy was thoroughly proud of putting a grin on her face. Lucille peeled away the bag to withdraw a six inch comb that glittered more than the surrounding snow. Its handle was scattered with a mix of rich green emeralds and exquisite amethyst that embellished the white bone teeth. Her first thought was amazement and glee; her second thought, though, was that it cost more than her entire outfit combined. The youthful smile on her lips faded away and sunk Guy's heart.

"I cannot accept this." She nearly whispered without looking away from the shimmering stones.

"It is a gift. Don't you like it?" He sharply answered with a twang of annoyance. He was doing something nice, how dare she make it difficult? This was why he avoided the suicidal dance of courting women. They were all, in fact, as treacherous as Marian, just in their own unique way.

"Well, yes –"

"No, you're right. It's too gaudy for someone as sophisticated as you."

"No, that's not it," She tucked the brush back into its pouch, "It's too nice. I don't deserve it. This is what, the fourth time I've seen you in my life? It's not humble of me to have it."

"You're a nice girl, you deserve nice things. There are men who can take care of you and give you these gifts because they want you to be happy. Let me make you happy." He coolly inched forward to her again, his warm breath clouding in the cold, the electricity from his body sparking with hers. His proximity made her knees weak.

"I want to know you, not your money."

"My wealth is very secure, don't you worry about that. This one little trinket is nothing. Not a second thought. I want you to have this as a gift from me, because I want to see you happy. I want to see that smile." Guy brushed his thumb along the bottom edge of her lips as she shyly grinned. Lucille looked up to meet his adoring gaze, her nose nearly against his chin, and allowed him to cup her hand with the comb inside. She felt a bubbling urge to throw herself into his arms and be whisked away like in some romantic poem but she knew better. Lucille had been raised to be proper; she would never be allowed to get so caught up in some hormonal fury or exciting embrace. What would her straight laced father think? But at the same time, where was that shepherd? Where was the rigorous ruler that kept her in line? All she could see was an enchanting forest blanketed in twinkling ice and the warm hold of a generous and handsome man. What's the worst that could happen if she decided to live a little?

Lucille twirled her fingers into the raven locks of Gisborne's shaggy hair and giggled lightly. Guy sensed heated shockwaves race down his spine and fill all of his organs; he was intoxicated, but not in any way he was familiar with. He could feel the overwhelming urges and screams for lust and power; parts of his brain were snapping in insistence that he take her there on the forest floor. Of course, he knew such behavior was radically unwise lest he end up with either a slapped face or another illegitimate infant. The thoughts he couldn't define were much more subtle and emotional. She was not just a beautiful young girl in his arms, she was Lucille. And somehow she was perfect. These feelings were rapidly developing ahead of schedule, but he did not care, he had to let her know.

Gently Guy swept away stray hair from her forehead, his gloved fingers tender in their caress. Lucille bit her lip excitedly and moved in closer so that her body carefully touched his. He could not contain himself any longer. Gisborne placed one hand to the small of her back and the other to the back of her neck and quickly pressed his lips to Lucille's, his hunger apparent, but his emotion genuine. It did not take long for her to accept and part her lips so that his could fit perfectly in between. She was soft and feminine yet just as eager as her partner. For the next few moments every bite of cold and every shriek from the birds fell away and left only this dome of passion in the clearing. They hardly knew what they were starting, and they hardly knew each other, but Guy and Lucille were certain that this kiss, and this love, were just as pristine and perfect as the crystal snow upon the branches around them.


	6. Transgressions

That evening the sun sank along the horizon like a fresh peach hung in the sky. Its light cascaded through the painted windows of Kirklee's Abbey and illuminated the icons of the saints in an oddly fascinating and yet fearful manner. Their omniscient presence was encircling the building but in no way hindering the lively chatter of the two chanters who were hard at work pinning greenery throughout the narthex.

"I swear to you, one year I will find a way to stop stabbing myself with these bloody things." Beth joked as she swept away a spot of blood from her pudgy finger that had been drawn from a vindictively sharp holly leaf. Lucille laughed and handed her another pin for the plant.

"Think of it this way, it's like leeching but it's free."

"I ought to be healthy as a horse this year, then, that's for sure."

"Good, you ought to look radiant at the feast tomorrow then!"

"Ah, I'm not going to the church's feast," Beth replied while tearing off a straying branch, "I've been hired to do some caroling at the festivities in Locksley."

"At Guy of Gisborne's manor?"

"Unfortunately." Beth rolled her eyes as Lucille's lit up. The strawberry blonde bit her lip in a childish bubbliness, remembering that it had only been a few hours since he had pressed a warm kiss to her and sealed a vow of love onto her heart. She felt as if she would keel over dead if she didn't tell somebody soon.

"I just saw him earlier today."

"Gisborne?"

"Yes."

"Sorry to hear that." She shuddered her rounded body jokingly.

"Oh stop, it was lovely."

"Seeing Guy of Gisborne was lovely? Lucille, dear, you best drink more wine for your health; whatever is in your water is making you crackers. I'm only going for the money."

"I mean it, Beth! He's lovely. He bought me this gorgeous comb for Christmas, it's got stones and everything, and he says such lovely things –"

"Lucille, what are you on about?" The chanters face fell sullen and petrified in terror. She set down the holly sprigs and turned to her friend in concern, "What do you mean he's bought you things? What is he asking you to give him in return?"

"Nothing." She crinkled her nose.

"It might seem like nothing, but he can squeeze blood from a stone. Even if you think the little secrets or tid bits you tell him are nothing important, he is using it for something. What does he ask? Is it about the church?"

"Guy has never asked me about anything, Beth. What do you think I am, some sort of spy with benefits on the side?"

"Benefits?" Beth nearly fell backwards off of her stool at the mention of this word. She stepped down to the floor level and held Lucille by the shoulders.

"I love him." She whispered with magical excitement that nearly murdered her coworker. Beth burst into reciting prayers to the Virgin Mother, begging her to protect Lucille from some God forsaken evil, to hold her through temptations. Lucille got a bitter taste in her mouth and no longer found these jokes funny. Father George then appeared from his office door, the lingering smoke of blown out candles wafting out into the foyer.

"Lucille, we need to talk. Now. Beth, would you mind decorating the iconostasis for a few moments?" He nudged her through to the altar without awaiting a reply. The desperation to shake sense into his daughter was thick and apparent.

"We already did the iconostasis." His daughter helpfully told him, but George blatantly ignored her.

"I very clearly did not give you permission to leave the house with Gisborne today."

"You told me to decorate the church, and I'm decorating –"

"Do not mock me," the priest stuffed a finger to her face, "Lucille, listen. You are to stay away from that man, is that clear?"

"Why?"

"Lucille –"

"Why? All my life you have taught me how to behave so that men will want to marry me, and now that I am old enough you push them away!"

"You are hardly old enough, young lady! You have the mind of a child which is proven by your attitude right now. You cannot be so defensive about somebody you only just met. Trust me. If not as your parent, than as your priest - this is not what is best for you."

"You only just met him as well. How dare you pretend to know what he has to offer?" Lucille pushed strings of fir branches to the other end of the table and stormed to the opposite side of the narthex, a pool of hot tears struggling to find their way out.

"You are blinded by his money, you foolish girl, but that is not who he is."

"I don't care about his money!"

"Do you know what I care about? His dungeons – or did he forget to mention that he is in charge of the jails? Surely he never told you about the marred and beaten men down there who are broken and burned for answers; I take confessions there weekly and have seen the handiwork of that animal. You will be nowhere near him. He is evil incarnate. Gisborne is vicious and controlling –"

"So then what does that make you?" Lucille stepped away again as George encroached upon her short and trembling figure. Her muscles were shaking with adrenaline at the confrontation where all of her emotions that had been locked away were banging on her lungs to be freed.

"Excuse me?"

"All you have ever done is tried to control me. Lucille, sit up straight. Lucille, learn to be a chanter. Lucille, don't drink more than two wines. Lucille, clear the house like a proper woman," She cried with each grievance rising into a crescendo of anger, "Lucille, go do your stitching and leave the adults alone. Lucille, stay away from Guy. I'm tired of it! You just need to control me to feel better because you couldn't keep Mum from killing herself!" After this shriek the church fell deathly silent. She nearly regretted letting the words fly from her mouth, but her heart felt cleansed and empty of burden for the first time in years. No longer was she buried under a heavy rucksack stuffed with complaints. Lucille swiped away boiling tears and fly away strands of golden hair as her father stood in dumbfounded shock. George was so embalmed with fury and shattered pain that he could not move or speak. How dare anyone say such a thing, especially the daughter he had given his life for? Clearly she had snapped. If only Lucille would follow his direction more or listen a little better she wouldn't feel this way, he was certain of it.

The blonde girl said nothing more as she stormed out the side door of the Abbey and into the frosted snow. As darkness crept up and blotted the sky the temperature was falling even quicker than her relationship with her father; there was no way she would dare to go home to him tonight. The reverberating howls and resentment in the walls of the church would be amplified in the halls of their home and she could not bear to face it. She didn't hate George, she never had, but she despised his puppeteer approach to her life, if one could even call it hers. Lucille was aware of his good intentions, but no salvation comes from good thoughts. A man's judgment will always fall down to his deeds and actions and the priest was no different. For every benevolent donation he made George created another smothering rule for her to life by and she had had enough. Once her crying settled she noticed Beth had popped out from the same side door, her eyes broken with sadness, her mouth a flat line. There was not a chance she had not heard the explosion. Silently Beth took her friend into her arms and cradled her against her soft chest while Lucille took unladylike sniffs to calm herself down.

"You're going to be alright." The chubby chanter cooed with a maternal instinct. Lucille watched down the road where a meandering river and creaky bridge normally reside, but they were suffocated under piles of frost.

"I don't know what I did, Beth, I don't know. It just all happened so fast… I can't go home to him. I can't."

"Alright, alright. I tell you what, come stay with me tonight and help me make some puddings. We can go to the Locksley feast tomorrow. You can keep me company with all those boring nobles talking about themselves, eh?"

"Okay," Lucille chuckled slightly and held tightly to her friend, "Thank you."

"No really, I ought to be thanking you. Have you ever had to spend a day with rich men? Stick them in front of a mirror and they will be entertained for hours."


	7. A Misunderstanding

"I don't see why we should be responsible for providing all this booze; all we do is give, give, give to these rats and then on Christmas we give them more?" Vaisey shook his head with a grunt and returned to nursing his ale, "It's not right, Gisborne. None of this is right." Guy nodded along as each word became more slurred and surreal. The Sherriff, and nearly all the rest at the party, were far from their sober selves before the meal had even been served. He added it to the list of reasons why he was a better and more successful man than the rest of the scum in the manor. Farmers, blacksmiths, cloth dyers, and all the rest packed into the Lord's home and enjoyed the benefits of their yearlong turmoil and harvest; on such a happy day as Christmas they would not let their undying fear of Gisborne crush the sanctity and joy out of their celebration. Guy slid up from his seat amid protests from his boss, who did not want to be forced to converse with anyone lower, and slithered around to refresh his ale and his sanity. Annoying jeers and cackles floated through the hanging apples and iron chandeliers to burst the house to the seams. Gisborne could not wait for this day to be over. To make matters worse Annie had been chewing at his heels all afternoon with a desperation he thought only existed in the dying. Even now as he downed another mug of beer she was fluttering her eyelashes from across the hall. In the back of his mind Guy wondered if she expected a proposal or some other absurd absolution of affection in front of the village; surely that wouldn't happen even in his last dying breath. Still he could not break his attention from her consistent winks and smiles. After a moment, though, his interest was piqued when he heard a familiar laugh, one without alcohol on the breath, and like a wolf on the tail of prey he followed the trail to the front door.

"But he was so drunk by the time he actually had to get up and play Harod in the show he just tumbled right off the table!" Lucille described through broken giggles, "And ever since then my Lord in Leeds wouldn't let us have mummery or nativity plays."

"Lucille?"

"Guy, happy Christmas! I brought you a pudding." She offered with unfiltered glee. In her grasp rested a large bowl, nearly as long as her arms, filled with boiled wheat and dried fruits. He did not return her excitement. Instead, Gisborne swallowed down the tension in his neck and attempted to ignore the alarm in his rib cage as his heart pounded to break free from the bone entrapment. From the peripheral of his vision he could still catch the gazing eye of the pregnant Annie.

"What are you doing here?"

"Oh, um, that's kind of a long story. Beth is supposed to do carols today so I offered to help her out and I thought it was only right that I should bring something, so I decided on frumenty pudding, and –"

"You shouldn't be here." The hardness in his voice shook Lucille and her coworker, who refused to get into the middle of Gisborne's path.

"You're right, I shouldn't have come without asking. I'm sorry, it was stupid, I'm stupid, it's… I'm sorry."

"That's not what I meant." He quickly clasped onto her shoulder when Lucille turned to go. Several words tried to boil up his throat and yet all of the English language escaped his mind; how could this work out? If she discovered that the fetus inside of Annie was his responsibility, what would she do? She could scream, she could hit, she could burn the house to the ground. The worst thing Lucille would be capable of was hating him; Guy could not survive that blow after letting her into his leather shell. Or, worse off, what if Annie discovered that his heart lied with another woman? She was an obsessively hormonal bitch to start off with. This could only escalate further.

"It was rude, I will go."

"I only meant to say that these drunkards are not good company for you." Gisborne fibbed through an unstable voice.

"If I have you, that's all the company I need." Lucille blushed and held his stare for a moment. He did not know what to do with a phrase like that. Marian certainly never tossed him anything so sweet, and no loose chambermaid had any words to speak with such an impacting significance. Guy was wanted, and to him, that was a Christmas miracle.

"We should get this to the kitchen," Beth awkwardly squeezed in, "Come on." With that the girls whisked off with the heap of pudding in tow. This exchange, though short and simple, did not go unnoticed. The warm eye contact was more than enough to rev up Annie's curiosity. After all, Guy was not an open man to anyone but her. So then what was this? The five month pregnant servant girl followed in hot pursuit to the kitchen and made sure to catch the blonde alone and off guard.

"Would you like some wine, miss?"

"Oh, goodness you startled me," Lucille gasped with a hand on her chest, "No, thank you. I may grab some later."

"I saw you come in just now and thought I would offer, may as well since I won't be serving up drinks much longer."

"No?"

"No, things will be much different when the Lord of Locksley marries." Annie beamed, popping the apples of her cheeks out in pleasure. She was washed in gratification to discuss Guy and how well they fit together; of course, she had to be discreet. He had told her he was not ready to disclose their family just yet.

"When he marr – he's planning marriage? Already?"

"Oh yes! He doesn't like to talk much of it, but it's in his mind. I just know it. Guy knows it's a bit fast and kind of unorthodox but what he feels is genuine."

"And he's told you this?" Lucille's face flushed as her nerves sank into her stomach and dragged it down to the floor. After four encounters Guy was concocting a marriage between them? There was no doubt in her heart that she cared about him, but there was no way she could marry a man she only just met regardless of his qualities.

"Well, not word for word. But we both know that when a man kisses a woman it's practically like putting a ring on her finger, right?"

"Yes, it is."

"So the wedding bells aren't too far off!" Annie happily shrugged and turned to go, satisfied with marking Guy as her own, but whipped around to whisper to Lucille once more, "But you didn't hear any of this from me. It's still very hush-hush."

"No, of course." The short blonde answered with a painted on happiness. She was struck with awe at this information. What was she supposed to do? Could that be why he was so shocked to find her at this feast? If Gisborne proposed, especially in front of others, Lucille did not know what she would do short of becoming sick and chundering on guests in anxiety. Of course it filled her heart to know that he had reciprocated fancies but instantaneous marriage spooked her to death. Perhaps her father had been right. In order to assuage the crashing waves of emotion inside of her ribcage Lucille dove directly for a passing tray of filled wine goblets.

As guests began being seated for supper Gisborne, too, felt his organs convulse in panic. He had to keep the two women apart. Undoubtedly Annie would take her dinner with the other staff, so he was left to only keep an eye on innocent Lucille. There was a pang of guilt for luring her into such a complex and sticky web. For an instant he thought how much easier it would be to tear the knife from the bread and take himself away from this hellhole he had fabricated; though it should have been done years ago he never had the courage to act on it, and that was no different on this Christmas.

As smorgasbords of venison, goose, and swan began cluttering the tables Guy sneaked Lucille over and invited her sit with him. She obliged with a smile on her face and a replenished cup of liquid courage in her hand. Expensive imported saffron and spices glittered the meal and boasted Gisborne's affluence with each bite, a private thrill that he enjoyed, as the evening carried on. Jokes were made, performers dazzled, and alcohol flowed as the sleepy village of Locksley ignited for the most festive day of the year. Throughout most of the supper Guy's attention was diverted to pestering business owners or the whining Sheriff, but he felt a glowing ember of peace inside by knowing Lucille was seated at his right. Once the host had his time back the candles had begun to whittle down and the guests had begun to lazily drag themselves back to their hovels in order to sleep off the massive meal. He turned to Lucille to find her even more gorgeous than he had remembered, though he had only looked away for most of an hour. The flicker of flames waltzed in her wide green eyes.

"Forgive me; it is not my intention to ignore you."

"You're fine, it's your party, enjoy it. I'm just enjoying your wine." She giggled lively.

"I see that. How many wines have you enjoyed exactly?"

"Oh, I dunno. Is this number five or…?"

"I don't know, is it?" Gisborne asked with a small smirk. Lucille responded by biting her lip and shrugging her shoulders to the tune of another laugh. The house had been pressed to the rafters all day by drinkers and gluttons who he was sick of, but somehow this petite church mouse managed to make even inebriety adorable. She was loosening her behavior, undoing the top button of the suit, relaxing the reins. Guy already knew he was a lustful victim to her piety but her vulnerability also stimulated a pleasure in him.

"I don't drink much. My father won't tolerate it, but you know what? This drinking thing is fun."

"Yes," he chuckled with her as Lucille's stare went a bit out of focus, "it really is, but you may want some fresh air to keep your head from swimming."

"Are you inviting me on a walk?"

"I could be." Guy smirked with self-assurance before taking her hand and helping her from the sturdy wooden seat. Lucille swaddled herself in a thick forest green cloak and matching scarf to defend against the frozen air outside; as Christmas day faded away so did the snowflakes and ice, but the air was just as wicked without it. Her companion yanked his gloves tighter and led her to the front door.

"Oh, Sir Guy," Annie called with a hurried dash to him from down the hall. The man in black stiffened his spine and nervously watched Lucille before turning to his mistress.

"Yes?"

"I forgot to tell you, Sir, that your holiday package from the staff was left on your writing desk." She coolly answered. Only the two former lovers deciphered that she was referring to Annie's own present.

"Yes, well… do be sure to take yours from the top drawer of that desk." Gisborne nearly muttered before evacuating out the door with his strawberry blonde Lucille in tow. They filtered past his private stables where muscular horses were wrapped up in blankets and silently asleep until clearing the grounds of the manor. It was only here that Guy caught up his breath from the clenching terror that was his love triangle.

Inside the cream shaded house the pregnant maid refused to hesitate before scurrying to find Guy's gift to her. Stealthily Annie clicked shut the wooden door of his office and tip-toed to the worn and cluttered carved writing desk. The images of those dazzling purple stones danced in front of her imagination. The anticipation of receiving the jewel encrusted comb had followed her dreams ever since she had caught the whiff of knowledge of that luxurious present. Giddily she stroked a few fingers through the chestnut hair she had over her shoulder. Annie had Guy's heart and his baby, which was exciting enough, but this was concrete and physical evidence of his affections. The leather clad brute was not known for his sugary words or romantic touches. But she knew that a shimmering comb was his language through which he was expressing love. Without another second wasted she dug into the drawers and pulled out a velvety tied bag. This was it! From the wrapping Annie withdrew both a simple chain link necklace and a frown. This gift cost nothing in comparison to Gisborne's wealth and capacity for thought. After sifting through the rest of the desk she found that this was the only present. Where then was the emerald and amethyst comb? Where was the romance? Where was Guy of Gisborne's love? With a bitter taste in her mouth the mother to be made a guess – Lucille Barker.


	8. Harmony

Coldness crept between layers of fabric and sunk into skin until it hit the bone. In this deep December night the icy fingers of the season drifted through bright moonlight, but it did not seem to poison the evening for Lucille and Guy. Her cheeks and nose flushed redder than a rose in the biting weather but her emerald eyes would not for a second seem unhappy. Gisborne's brow was furrowed a bit as frosted winds swept into his raven hair and stroked his scalp.

"So you are enjoying Nottingham so far?"

"Oh absolutely. It's beautiful here, and so big! Leeds has what, probably 300 people, but Nottinghamshire… I have never seen anything like it. And the forest is so incredible."

"Forgive me, Lucille, but is Leeds not a heavily forested area?"

"Yes it is." She replied without piecing together any implications to her silly remark. Guy's feet scuffled to a crawl, which led her to stop along with him. The pair stood under the stars along the back of Gisborne's stables and glanced into the deep abyss that was Sherwood Forest.

"You cannot be impressed with these trees if you have seen them all your life."

"Sherwood is different," Lucille insisted. Tall, spindly trees stretched up along the ink dark night and gobbled up the moon. The rustle of the leaves indicated that it was a forest where the vast and magnetizing black would tell a mind that it may be the edge of the world altogether. Even the fearless Gisborne was slightly unsettled by the woods at night. "The birds here sing much better and more often; the nightingales are so happy in Nottingham, it's rather contagious."

"You're not too bad of a singer yourself." Guy smiled with a tinge of awkwardness that was masked in the dark. He was not accustomed to granting flattery or compliments, no matter how genuine. Lucille sat herself on a nearby bench that was pressed against the stable's wall. For hours a day boys would find themselves in the same seat as they picked at horseshoes and cared for saddles. The man in leather joined her and made a note to sit close, their thighs touching, his breath near her.

"Thank you. That's kind of you."

"I take it you always wanted to be a chanter, a singer –"

"No, I didn't," she answered with the haste of the sweet wine in her veins, "it was my father's idea. He always wants me to find a way to be more integrated in our church; somehow selling the Christmas geese, chanting, and doing all the candles isn't enough."

"I'm sure he wants what is best."

"I'm sure he just wants to keep an eye on me." Lucille mumbled and laced her fingers around each other. Guy recalled his distaste towards Father George upon their meeting but decided to keep that card hidden in his thick jacket; there was no need to jab her with negativity on this private walk.

"I've seen you singing… you can't tell me you don't enjoy it."

"I adore it. Music is – well… I don't even think I can describe it. Music is like color, it's like laughter, it's like flowing water. It's beautiful and wise and fascinating and impossible to get out of one's head."

"It's quite like you, then." Guy suavely stated before running a few fingers through her hair. Her golden strands were strewn down across her back with small braids in the front that plastered to her face in abrupt breezes.

"What do you think about music? Do you play any instruments?"

"No, I don't; I've much more important things to do like running a castle."

"Ah."

"Not that what you do is unimportant," Gisborne immediately back peddled with a school boy's nervousness, "I just meant that you, or rather I, do different things. Different interests. Not that I'm uninterested in your music…" Eventually he dwindled down as the onslaught of words proved to be going in no direction towards progress, although he could feel the warm smile that Lucille always gave him when she laughed.

"I have no interest in politics or war, so I think we are even."

"Don't get me wrong, Lucille, I'm very intrigued by your instruments."

"Excuse me?"

"I mean if you play music… forgive me, it's taken very little time for me to muck this all up." Gisborne jutted his chin out and turned away slightly before recomposing his stony appearance. She softly planted an icy hand on his knee and squeezed him; the allure of her touch brought him back to face her.

"I've played the lute since I was girl and I picked up the flute a few years ago. Lately I have been learning the harpsichord; a friend of my father's gave it to me for my birthday last year. It's so gorgeous. It's supposed to be a big deal in Italy, and oh I would give anything to go and hear them play there."

"I've seen those played in London for Prince John."

"Aren't they fantastic?"

"Yes, and I bet you are… I would give anything to hear you play. Forget Italy." Guy nudged himself closer and wrapped his arm around her waist, their shoulders pushed together, their noses nearly making contact when he looked down into her stare. Lucille's blushes were masked by the red blotches of cold on her tightened skin.

"Prepare to be disappointed," she laughed, "I find that a lute player actually spends their life tuning the thing instead of playing it." She yanked her shawl on tighter as a gust of wintery wind grazed them and gave a large sniff. The weather was rather poor, but their precious moments together were too rich to exchange for a cozy indoor fire. In another push of a breeze Lucille folded herself against Guy's chest and shivered. He did not waste a second of time. Gisborne swiftly clasped his arms around her and held Lucille almost like a child, his fingers petting the hair along her spine and a vibrantly warm palm to her cheek. He was starving for this attention and would not let her up if she had wanted. Luckily, though, Lucille snuggled closer and pressed her forehead to his neck. She grinned at the scent of his musky soap that clung to the skin. They both knew that midnight must have already passed them by, but it did not matter. The only relevant thing in their minds was the seclusion: no priest to whisk away his daughter and no pregnant maid to shoo away the disturbed soldier.

"I would love to see you again tomorrow." Guy of Gisborne whispered into the crown of her head, his thick gloves still working through her wavy hair.

"Come by after lunch, my father ought to be in Derbyshire for the afternoon."

"Perfect; I expect a show after all this bragging." He joked.

"Anything for you."


End file.
